"There's nobody with a more punchable face than Harold."

"Harold... if he fell in a market, somebody would probably kick him for good measure."

"I don't wish death on the guy, but I wish he'd fuck off for a while."

These were the sentiments of residents of the Tower, a place both for cutting edge magical research and exploring ancient tomes on forgotten magics. There was plenty of information to be uncovered, prestige to be had, and... yadda yadda. Really, who gave two shits besides the pompous assholes that called themselves Tower Mages?

I'll never forget the lesson my mentor gave me when I was younger. He was viewed as a swindler and no-good mage, but he leaned in not two minutes after getting his ass beat in by thugs sent by the Tower to tell me, "Kid, there's a small secret when it comes to magic. You can literally make shit up and it'll usually work. Makes the guys who actually take it seriously really pissed off."

There was a part of me that wondered if nursing the wounds of this crazy young mage was worth it, but he offered to teach me magic as gratitude for my caring for him. The result? Well, I learned that magic was in everything, and that at its most foundational level, we were all magic. Even smaller than we could see or imagine, we were magic.

"What about the words of power?" I remember asking, and my mentor scoffed at me.

"Don't forget what I told you, Harold, it doesn't matter. What is magic?"

"Energy directed by intent."

"What is the Tower?"

"A load of shit," I said proudly at six. Twenty years later, my mentor was right: they were still a load of shit.

Unlike my mentor, wherever he went, I had no issue with using magic on the "innocent" mercenaries that were sent to "teach me a lesson." I didn't kill them of course, but...

One charged at me from behind while I walked down the street and I announced, "Bubble." The sound of his feet approaching came to a suddenly halt and I stood still as he collided with the invisible barrier that surrounded me.

I wasn't going to take any hits. I wasn't my mentor.

I turned to face the mercenary in question, a balding man with a scarred eye. He climbed to his feet and took a few steps back cautiously. When I opened my mouth, he must have assumed a spell was coming, because he made a run for it.

"... boo."

Maybe it's time I visit the Tower after all.